


Shelter from the Storm

by imaginary_golux



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always nice to have someone to hold during a storm.  Or something.  Written for Porn Battle XI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter from the Storm

It only happens like this, when they are alone together, far from the court and the duties of being Kings of Narnia, far from their sisters and their castle, when they remember England and being schoolboys, and the war, and terror. (Though they are often afraid, in Narnia, there is never the same bone-deep terror as there was in London, because in Narnia they can fight back.) But when they are alone, hunting, perhaps, or merely wandering through their kingdom, it sometimes happens that some natural impediment – nightfall, or a thunderstorm – imprisons them in a cave or under a thick tree, and only then, only in these isolated places, when they can almost pretend that everything is a dream, does this happen.

Peter tastes like hot wine, Edmund thinks, though this is nonsense; they drink nothing but water when hunting, or sometimes cider. Nevertheless, Peter’s kisses taste like wine, and his hands are hot and callused and clever on Edmund’s shoulders and sides and – oh, yes, please – cock. It is, Edmund sometimes thinks, a little wrong that the High King should be kneeling so at a lesser king’s feet; but then again, Peter always did try to take care of everyone, so it makes a certain sense that he would want Edmund to come first, would want the sticky evidence that Edmund is happy and contented. And Edmund never makes Peter wait long, either for that or afterward, when Edmund is loose and happy and wants to make Peter feel the same way. Edmund has never liked kneeling – it reminds him too much of the Witch – but he curls up around his brother and licks and sucks at him until Peter grabs his hair and moans and shivers and comes, hard; Edmund swallows down the result, and kisses Peter again, because Peter is beautiful like this, relaxed as he never is anywhere else.

In the morning they will pull their clothing back on, set their disheveled hair to rights, and go out into their country as kings again, but here, warm and naked and tangled around each other, touching for the sheer joy of touch, enjoying this moment for everything it is and everything it can never be, they are merely Edmund and Peter, and it is enough.


End file.
